


Frills

by AnnetheCatDetective



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Lingerie, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-07 04:39:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17953757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnetheCatDetective/pseuds/AnnetheCatDetective
Summary: It was supposed to be a special weekend...It doesn't go exactly to plan, but it is still pretty special.





	Frills

    He’d sent Hawkeye out to pick up a bottle of something special, but that was just to get him out of the hotel room, to let Trapper open the package hiding in the bottom of his luggage, to let him get dressed. And Hawkeye knew it was all just kind of theater, because they’d done it before. Hawkeye had been the first one to send him out for ‘something special’, and he’d missed the meaning. He’d said for once, he didn’t feel like he needed a drink-- for once, he hadn’t felt like he needed a drink at all. They were in a hotel room in Tokyo, and all he needed was to pull the man he loved into his arms and find out what making love could be in a room with a lock on the door. But Hawkeye had given him a very promising look and he said something about needing some time to _get ready_ for him, and Trapper hadn’t known a whole lot about some things, that first R&R as _this_ , as _Them_ , with a capital T, but he’d known there were certain things that took _getting ready_ for, and he didn’t want to ruin the mystique if Hawkeye wanted some privacy to do it in.

 

    He’d let himself back into the room carrying a bottle of sake they’d saved and eventually used to bribe Henry into their next little getaway. He’d seen Hawkeye lying on the bed wearing nothing but a pair of nylons and a grin, and…

 

    He’d been on him almost before he could get the door locked. He’d left runs in the nylons and bite marks on the grin. He’d done things he never even _imagined_ before, and then he’d gone to Klinger and asked him where he could get certain things. Certain difficult and embarrassing to find things. The pair of panties with the ruffled backside that Hawkeye had mouthed him through before tugging them off of Trapper with his teeth. The silky slip Hawk had worn into a bath that had left absolutely nothing to the imagination once it got wet and felt like heaven when Trapper grabbed Hawkeye’s hips and thrust against him, that clingy barrier between them…

 

    And now, this.

 

    He has a lot of grand ideas about it, as he gets himself ready. He avoids looking in the mirror-- one thing looking at Hawkeye and wanting him, wearing anything at all, but it’s different to catch a glimpse of himself all dolled up like this, and it’s way beyond those panties. It feels strange just looking down at his own legs as he rolls the stockings up, as he clips them into place. The garter belt is black lace, bows on the clips, the stockings sheer with lacy tops, with red seams up the back…

 

    The nightie to match, that one was maybe a little much. As he pulls it out of the white box, his hands shake a little. Black and sheer as well, with red marabou trim at hem and neckline. It’s… short, for him. Fits around his chest and swishes out when he moves just the way he figures it should, but it doesn’t come down past his waist much. If he moves just right, the marabou teases at his cock, though… he’s already rock hard just from the anticipation.

 

    Not like it takes much to get him hard. He’s like a teenager, always up for it. Always _up_ , period. At least, whenever he’s with Hawkeye. Looking at Hawkeye. Touching Hawkeye. Smelling Hawkeye. Hell, thinking about him too much, like he is now, anticipating the way he’ll look and the way he’ll want to touch, the way he’ll want to have him… The thought of that light in his eyes and his perfect hands, how could a guy picture being the focus of all that and not be hard just waiting for it?

 

    And Hawkeye’s going to get it, too. Whatever he asks for. They’ve tried a lot, they’ve done everything he can think of at least once… so whatever Hawkeye wants to do to him, he knows it’ll be good. Most of what they get up to back at camp is a hand here or a mouth there, or if they really get the chance, they might just get to rut up against each other, hands roaming… In Tokyo, though, in Tokyo they do it all. He’s fucked Hawkeye, and Hawkeye’s fucked him, and they both like it both ways. It basically came down to the mood, what they did and how. Still, Trapper anticipates certain things. Dressed like he is, willing as he is, he anticipates certain things.

 

    Hawkeye taking control, Hawkeye taking… anything. He should have asked if Hawkeye still had those handcuffs… it’s not like he needs them or anything, but they do turn something in him on, they make his brain go nicely fuzzy around everything, make the thought of pleasing Hawkeye front and center in him.

 

    Well, okay, the thought of pleasing Hawkeye doesn’t need handcuffs to be the first thought on his mind. But that added fuzziness that doesn’t come from gin, it’s nice.

 

    He wraps his kimono around himself and belts it, and waits nervously. You could still look down and see the stockings, sure, but he’ll get to unveil the rest, or Hawkeye will get to unwrap him for it.

 

    He jumps a little even so, when he hears the lock, but Hawkeye slips in without opening the door wide anyway, and the grin on his face is something…

 

    “I’ve returned, my sweet.” He holds up a bag. “A little something special for later. And… do you have a little something special for me?”

 

    Hawkeye bobs his eyebrows, which would be more comical than anything, if Trapper wasn’t already dying for a good fuck. Lubricant and rubbers standing by and everything. As it is…

 

    “‘m all yours, Hawk.” He swallows, hands on the belt of his robe. He waits, lets Hawkeye step forward and gently replace them with his own. Hawkeye unties the belt, and Trapper slips out of it, lets it fall to his feet as Hawkeye takes the sight of him in.

 

    Without the panties, it’s just the lace of the garter belt framing his hard-on, and Hawkeye takes him all in, pupils already widening.

 

    “Oh… _fuck me_ …” He sighs, falling to sit on the bed. “Trapper…”

 

    “Kinda thought you’d be…” Trapper follows him down, kissing him. “I’ll do whatever you want me to, you know that.”

 

    He hopes he does, anyway. There’s a lot they don’t get to talk about, when they aren’t in a hotel bed in Tokyo, and even then they don’t get to talk loud. They get used to the silences. But he hopes Hawkeye knows he’d do anything and everything for him.

 

    “I need it, I need it.” Hawkeye shakes his head, between increasingly graceless kisses, and his hands are all over the place, and his hands always feel so good. “I’ve been… I’ve been craving it for days now, first thing I did when we got to this hotel was getting ready for it and then you asked me to go and pick something up…”

 

    “It’s not too funny if I’m dressed like this while I fuck you?”

 

    “There is _nothing_ funny about you dressed like that.”

 

    Trapper doesn’t think that’s true, really. He thinks there are a lot of funny things about a guy his size wearing the things he’s wearing, and how the nightie’s not even long enough on him, he thinks if they weren’t both raring to go, he’d look _hilarious_. But he’s grateful to Hawk for not laughing at him. Not wanting to laugh at him.

 

    “Okay, then.” He moves off of Hawkeye’s lap, to get what they need, and mostly to allow him to get naked and in whatever position he likes.

 

    Which he does, _fast_ , setting up with a folded towel and a pillow under his hips, with his legs spread wide for Trapper to get settled between. Trapper gets one of Hawkeye’s legs thrown up over his shoulder before he starts working him open, kisses at his calf, his knee, as best he can do without turning his head too far to meet his eyes. Changes position a little and lifts his nightie so he can slide in, so the marabou trim can tease Hawkeye instead.

 

    “Ohhh, we’re keeping this, we’re keeping this…”

 

    “Yeah? Maybe next time you’ll wear it for me.”

 

    “It won’t look as good on me.”

 

    “Sure it will.” Trapper grins, feels himself bottom out, Hawkeye tight around every inch of him. “Pretty little thing like you.”

 

    He holds himself up with one arm, so that he can hold onto the nightie and drag the trim up and down from Hawkeye’s balls to the head of his cock, so light he can hardly stand doing it, let alone imagine how hard it is to stand feeling it, but Hawkeye… he always does take being teased like a champ. Makes those little noises, writhes, but he never tells him to get on with it unless time’s of the essence or they hear someone coming, he never bothers him for more, he just lets him…

 

    He just lets him do anything, same as Trapper just lets Hawkeye do anything, only Trapper usually starts begging and pleading after a lot less teasing than Hawkeye will take in stride.

 

    He shifts, Hawkeye’s legs around his waist now, and the marabou trim on the nightie can keep on teasing without his help holding it. He’s got Hawkeye’s wrists pinned to the mattress as he thrusts into him.

 

    “Yeah, yeah… pretty little thing like you…” He repeats, watching Hawkeye’s face. “Those beautiful blue eyes of yours… cute little nose… and that _mouth_ , honey, you’ve got a smile that could bring a man to his knees… A tongue, too.”

 

    “Flatterer.” Hawkeye huffs, and then Trapper angles himself a little, hits that spot instead of sinking all the way in, and those beautiful blue eyes of his roll right back on a groan.

 

    “You got a real nice body, too.” He leers. “Body like that could get a guy in trouble…”

 

    “Get who in trouble, me or you?”

 

    “Let’s get in trouble together.”

 

    He leans over him, kisses him deeply. Feels every little movement, the way Hawkeye twitches and clenches around him, the slightest little turn of a wrist as he squirms-- and they’ve had enough time in Tokyo he knows when Hawkeye wants to be held down and when to let him go. It feels different. And he knows what it’s like to need to be pinned, to need Hawkeye’s full weight holding him down, to need to feel like he’s Hawkeye’s completely. Sometimes Hawkeye needs to _not_ be under him, gets to feeling claustrophobic, and it’s fine to keep going if they switch positions, but times like this, he feels the same need Trapper knows, to be held down and loved to within an inch of his life.

 

    “Hawkeye… _Hawkeye_ …” He lifts himself back up, so they can look at each other, get a real good look, but he has to dive back in, has to leave a nice big mark on the pale column of Hawkeye’s throat. He’s too beautiful, too good. With the deep pink love bites along creamy skin, lust-blown blue eyes, with the silk of his dark hair, flopping back from his forehead as Trapper fucks him hard, sweat making it hold its shape just so a little…

 

    Trapper doesn’t deserve him, but like hell would he ever give him up now.

 

    Anyway, Hawkeye doesn’t want to be given up.

 

    “Trapper-- Trap--”

 

    He pulls back, looks down at him again-- lets Hawkeye, more importantly, look up at him, in all his frilled glory.

 

    “Tell me what you need, Hawk, tell me…”

 

    “ _Trapper_ … just-- just…”

 

    The words die off, but Trapper nods. Sometimes, both of them just need to stop thinking. Even away from the worst of the war, they just need to stop thinking.

 

    He slides one hand from Hawkeye’s wrist, to lace their fingers together. Squeezes once before transferring it to the grip of his other hand, both wrists together, and his other hand goes to grip at Hawkeye’s hip. He can see the beads of sweat, the quivering muscles, the flush that takes him, can hear the way he struggles not to make too much noise, the moans that escape anyway, the grunts and sighs. Can _feel_ the way Hawkeye’s body is begging for his. The way he needs him…

 

    There’s no one else who could do this for him. There’s no one else who could take care of him like this, who could fuck him half so good until he’s biting his lip not to cry out loud enough for the next room over to hear, who would dress up for him and do anything for him, Trapper would do anything for him… There are more people than he cares to count who would love Hawkeye, people who’d do a lot for him. Some of them would never be able to last with him, though, and others… they still wouldn’t be Trapper, they still wouldn’t give everything Trapper wants to give, they still wouldn’t understand the parts of Hawkeye that make him the whole and complicated man he is. Not just the ugly parts the war has left them both with, though he understands those too well, but the beautiful things that make him hard to live with, if you’re not ready. The peculiar kind of honor he keeps. The dedication that keeps him working past the point anyone else would have collapsed. The heart of him, the maddening, crazy, wonderful heart of him, Trapper knows him and loves him even when he’s at his most exasperating. And he doesn’t think anyone on earth could love him any better.

 

    He gives it to him, he gives everything to him. He _exhausts_ himself giving it to him, doesn’t touch his cock except for the brush of the marabou trim of the nightie and watches it leap and jerk and leak as he fucks him until he comes from that alone, what a sight he is coming from that alone…

 

    Trapper’s wanted to get Hawkeye to come like that since the first time Hawkeye took him, and he was just right, just… just hammered at that spot until Trapper’s brain dribbled out his ears and he came, and then it was kind of a point of pride to do just as good a job… to hold back his own pleasure, no matter how bad he feels the need to just let go and come already, until he does that for him, until he gives him something no girl he’s ever had a good time with has ever done.

 

    This was a real good job.

 

    Maybe too good a job. There are finger-shaped bruises along one flank, and he looks dead drunk, and the other bruises come so far up his throat he’s going to have to make up some stories, and normally he’s more talkative even after sex…

 

    “Hawkeye?” He asks softly.

 

    “Guh.”

 

    “ _Shit_ , Hawk… too much?”

 

    Hawkeye manages to focus on him, hand shooting out to grab a handful of nightie before Trapper can move too far away.

 

    “Trapper John McIntyre… don’t you _dare_ apologize for that.” He says, and he sounds a little out of it, but… not too out of it.

 

    Still, he takes a little extra care getting him cleaned up, ditches the nightie but keeps the stockings and garter belt, doesn’t really think about them enough to think about taking them off. He makes Hawkeye drink some water, and when Hawkeye gestures to the bag he’d brought back, he pulls out the most elegant little box of candies.

 

    “For me?”

 

    “Nn. Feed me one.”

 

    Trapper laughs. “Sure, sure… sure thing, darling. You just come here and let ol’ Trapper take care of you.”

 

    He settles Hawkeye against his side, safe with one arm wrapped around him, and he feeds him little nibbles of flower-shaped sweets, kissing at him, touching him freely, and thrilling to the fact that there’s nothing to stop them doting on each other. Hawkeye rubs a leg against his with a sigh, and cuddles closer, and lets him.


End file.
